


Red like Blood

by knightinpinkunderwear



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Asexual Character, Asexuality Spectrum, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Bisexuality, Blood, Crime Scenes, Dexter is a stripper, Don't copy to another site, Forensics, Friends With Benefits, From Sex to Love, Frustration, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Murder, No Incest, No cheating, Not Canon Compliant, Pole Dancing, Queer Character, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex neutral asexuality, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping, and most of the time i will just let them be, becuase this is an AU, dexter is awkward, enemies to friends with benefits to friends to lovers, if events occur in the wrong canonical order its becuase i got confused, rita and dex break up in chapter 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22685518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinpinkunderwear/pseuds/knightinpinkunderwear
Summary: In s1 Doakes starts following the part-time blood spatter consultant Dexter Morgan.Then he can't get the image out of his head.(Tags to be updated with each chapter)
Relationships: Debra Morgan & Dexter Morgan, James Doakes/Dexter Morgan, past rita/dexter
Comments: 61
Kudos: 146





	1. Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I saw pictures and videos of Michael C Hall in costume for the musical Cabaret I've been thinking; What if Dexter started stripping to pay for Med School? And what if he just kept that job and is only employed by Miami-Metro Homicide part-time?

Dexter Morgan was a fucking creep.

There was something off about him. Like he was hiding something. Like he was wearing a mask.

He enjoyed his job way too much, and unlike Masuka, who just made perverse sexual jokes, Dexter seemed to fucking _enjoy_ the look of a murder scene. He'd get this violent glint in his eyes and in his grin. He always seemed to understand the psychology of a killer and he'd stare and smile like a fucking psycho.

Not to mention his taste in interior design. Fucking candid shots of people's blood on white walls and tile floors. 

Set up like they were fucking Jackson Pollock's prized works. Except instead of paint and interesting use of color in abstractions that James couldn't understand but appreciate, it was arterial cast-off spray from stabbings and spattering from a fucking blunt force trauma. What kind of fucking psycho keeps pictures of blood from murder scenes, much less prints and hangs them up?

Morgan's sister was relatively normal, a bit vulgar with her language, which he could not comment on given it was a trait he shared with the newly appointed homicide officer.

He didn't understand how she couldn't see what a creep her brother was. Maybe she was ignoring it. Maybe she was used to it, they had grown up together.

She would at least agree that her brother was the secretive type. 

Not that James would talk about how much of a freak her brother was in front of her again. She was surprisingly protective and defensive of him. 

(But she'd also shit talk the lab geek about smaller things, it seemed all sisters were _that way_ ).

James didn't understand how he was the only one to see it. But then again most of the "instincts" of his coworkers were not very sharp, to put it in the kindest of terms. 

Masuka was also a freak, so he probably couldn't see how his fellow geek was such a creep. 

Batista... that man had other things he was worrying about. (And James could understand how a marriage falling apart could keep one from doing his best work). Not to mention that the guy hardly got to see his daughter. 

James had yet to figure out how Maria could not see it, but then again she was always better at the political side of the job anyway. 

The fucking donuts. James hated them and how and how that made the lab geek loved by everyone. How he could just fucking bribe them all with sugar-covered fried pastries. It was fucking pathetic. 

Perpetuating the cops love donuts thing. (Which was stupid, because frankly, everyone likes donuts, not just the fucking police). 

He was only a part time employee and no one else seemed to wonder or care what he spent the rest of his day doing. Or wonder about why he'd been a part time employee for more than a fucking decade, what other things he'd spent all that time doing.

(If you asked James, it was probably some shady shit). 

Which is how he found himself tailing Morgan after work this week. So far not much had happened but James was slowly getting confirmation that Dexter Morgan was in some shady ass shit. Besides, it took time to dig up secrets. 

On Monday Morgan had just gone home at one. (And when James checked back in the evening his car was gone from the lot). 

On Tuesday, to a strip club (at fucking 11 in the morning) and his car was still parked there when James got off at 4:45. 

Wednesday, he'd gone to a little house in the suburbs, to be greeted by a blond woman and two kids. (Rita, according to Morgan's sister, also the freak's girlfriend). 

Thursday he lost Morgan behind a fucking 7 car pile up. 

It was Friday night and he was back to the same strip joint as Tuesday. (Where the fucker stayed for 5 hours). (If you asked James, that was too fucking long for anyone to stay at a strip joint). (Everything about this fucker was suspicious).

Morgan's car parked in the backlot of the club. (He'd worked 11-5 today as he usually did on Fridays). 

Morgan got out and walked into the building's side door, waving at the bouncer stationed just inside. He must've been pretty fucking regular at this club if he didn't even have to use the fucking front door.

After twenty minutes James figured that Morgan wasn't leaving anytime soon and decided to go in. Maybe see how much of a pervert the ginger was, as this club was not one he'd heard Masuka talk about. (Which could either mean it was tame or even too kinky for the perverted hypochondriac). 

The front of the club was nondescript, with a red canopy over the entryway and a neon sight stating _Dickie's Adult Entertainment_. 

The lights were warmly colored and ambient, and the strip club/bar seemed to have orange and dark pink walls. There were several stages with at least three poles each, and by the look of the doors, a few private rooms as well. The bar was to the right and the dancers were either on the stage or a few giving lap dances to members of the audience. 

This was not exactly the place he'd thought the psycho Morgan would go to. The younger more sane Morgan, maybe. Given the fact that most of the strippers were men. (Maybe about 2/3 of them).

James took a seat at the bar. Waiting to catch the psycho that was also apparently into strip clubs with an abundance of scantily clad men as well as women. (Who knew he'd learn a secret already?) 

Then he caught a glance of familiar reddish hair. 

_Oh_. 

_What the fucking shit...?_

That was something one might be secretive about while working in a "respectable" job at the Miami-Metro Homicide department. (James did not respect the profession itself but it was not a frowned upon position). That would also explain Morgan's car being parked here for _five fucking hours_ on Tuesday.

Holy fucking shit.

Dexter Fucking Morgan was a fucking stripper. 

Bathed in red light, wearing what damn sure looked like tear-away pants with white crisscrossed suspenders with a stupid bowtie looking thing level with his nipples. Which were just out, like the rest of his upper body, which was toned in a way a lab geek should not be but was definitely normal for a fucking stripper and pole dancer.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

He was even wearing lipstick. He had to be, no-one's lips were that fucking red.

They looked blood-red. Like he'd somehow incorporated at least the color of blood from his other job to this one. 

Or maybe it was the other way around, that he liked blood because it was red. 

Either way, Morgan was a fucking picture, ginger hair looking redder than ever in the lighting with blood-red lips and eyes lined with dark makeup to make them pop. 

(And Masuka made all the lewd comments about the other Morgan and her prior assignment in vice).

Morgan had to have been doing it for a while because he looked pretty fucking sure of his movements on the pole. 

James tried to tell himself that he was staying and still watching because he was in shock, or because he was making sure that Morgan wasn't trying to trick him. (Though what the trick could be he didn't know, as it seemed like the ginger psycho hadn't noticed James tailing him from the precinct).

After watching the ginger give a woman a lap dance he didn't have much left of an excuse for staying (though he did now have confirmation that they were, in fact, tearaway pants). But he stayed nonetheless, slowly sipping a drink he couldn't fully remember ordering. Feeling parched and like the world had been tipped on its head.

Morgan was a fucking stripper.

Not the Morgan who worked vice and had to pretend to be a fucking prostitute. 

The fucking _lab geek._

A voice kicked James out of his thoughts and careful observation of the older Morgan. "If you want a private room with Sanguine you gotta request it now, buddy," it was the bartender, she had a gruff voice and most of her hair buzzed short. "He's pretty popular," was the woman's explanation.

"Sanguine?" He asked, giving her the barest of glances, eyes returning to Dexter Fucking Morgan, who was still a fucking stripper. (Not a trick of cruel imagination).

"Yea, the dancer you've been eyein' up with the suspenders and red lipstick, that's Sanguine," the woman gestured back to where Dexter Fucking Morgan, the fucking stripper was sliding down back against the pole and spreading his fucking legs. 

"Not tonight," he answered, mouth feeling dry. There was no fucking way he could take in this information and...well...

He may have been able to appreciate the male form but he was sure as hell not ready to get a private dance from the creep mother-fucker of a coworker who just happened to be a fucking stripper.

"Suit yourself," she muttered before trudging off to serve another one of the people sitting at the bar.

James went home after he finished and paid for the drink, hoping that Morgan hadn't seen him. And hoping, desperately, to get the image out of his head. 

But it didn't.

The image stayed with him through the quiet drive home, the image stayed as Guerrero's men waved at him. Only briefly replaced by that of poor Kara in a pool of her own blood sobbing on her home carpet. 

He felt guilty.

Kara had been dead for two weeks and he was thinking about the freak from work.

But the image stayed, even as he lay awake in bed, lurking in red light behind his eyelids.

The image of curling red hair, and suspenders framing a toned and muscular body, of defined and muscular thighs.

(Of what it would look like against clean sheets, of what it would feel like to be under or between those thighs).

The image of the curve of Morgan's ass underneath skimpy and shiny black briefs.

(Of what it might look like without that layer). 

The image of eyes sensually lined with dark makeup. 

(Of the looks those eyes could give).

The image of full lips, red like blood. 

(And of what those lips could possibly do). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I love the anger/sexual tension thing Dex and Doakes had going on. I'm just agitating it to make it more sexual.


	2. Liar Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I name this chapter after a trope? Hell yea I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dexter is a sex-neutral ace in this fic. This means that he doesn't really think about or crave sex because he sucks at connecting with human beings sex as a form of intimacy freaks him out. But sex for the sake of orgasm, that's chill.
> 
> Also screw the canon in which he "didn't care" about Rita and the Canon in which he doesn't think of Astor and Cody as his family

Dexter didn't really think of himself as a particularly sexual person. Sex was ...fine. He didn't really understand the point but it was nice...when it wasn't about intimacy. 

He was _not_ good with intimacy. And who could blame him? He didn't have too much when it came to the feelings department and intimacy required being vulnerable, which he couldn't even _begin_ to imagine being comfortable with, given the lessons and the code Harry Morgan had instilled in him. 

Intimacy is when a partner figured out that there was something wrong with him, something missing. 

Sex was usually when he got dumped. 

Ironic, given that he could technically be classified as a sex worker. 

It was hard to appreciate the irony given the consistent misfortune it had wrought upon his love life.

Taking off his clothes for strangers was no big deal, people didn't come to a strip club for human connection, they just wanted to ogle at people and their barely clothed bodies. 

But say his girlfriend wanted to take it to "the next level"? Well, that instilled a sense of dread and loss in him. 

He liked Rita, he didn't want to lose her.

If only she meant she wanted a lap dance, but he also wasn't quite ready to explain to her how he was so skilled at them. He had kind of told her, by methods of omission, that he was only a forensic lab geek. 

He wasn't sure that she would be okay with dating a stripper, given her sexual history, much less allowing one near her children. Because, frankly, he had no idea what a normal reaction to his full-time most-nights job would be. 

So far Deb was the only one from outside of Dickie's that knew about his main job. (And he is glad that Dad never found out...he didn't want to think about the disappointment Harry Morgan would've had for him).

But he never wanted to quit, he liked working as a stripper. It was good exercise and the human interaction he was required to have with coworkers was simple, don't be a dick, and if somebody sucks show them some tips. 

This job was the only part of his life that Harry Morgan didn't control or craft. At Dickie's, he could be at least a different somewhat more truthful version of the Dexter Morgan mask. 

Seduction was kind of like the hunt, it used similar skills. A keen eye, to find good tippers who respected personal boundaries. Research and practice, his search history from kills would only be incriminating if there weren't so many porn and pole dancing websites mixed in. Precision and control were key if anyone was to even hope to be a good dancer, especially when the pole was involved. 

Plus no one was suspicious of a stripper that kept in good shape. Though he might need an excuse for his part-time work at Miami Metro.

He figured that them knowing that he was a stripper was not a good option. LaGuerta already flirted with him despite his girlfriend and discomfort. He did not want her to feel validated and motivated to flirt with him more. (He didn't want to test to see how seriously IA took complaints about sexual harassment when he worked with Vince, and given that they would have also found out he was a stripper). 

He also didn't want to know how different everyone else would treat him because of his job. He didn't particularly envy the looks his sister got when working on Vice. (In fact, he tried to stop them because that was his sister and unless she wanted people to look at her like that they better fucking not). 

Doakes would probably combust. 

It was weird how he was the only one that could see through Dexter's mask. See that something was missing and that he was hiding a more dangerous side. 

Not the stripping. 

The fact that he was a serial killer. And probably one of the most efficient ones, if he were to say so. 

With thirty-nine victims in the span of fourteen years and not yet been investigated. He was pretty successful. 

And the Dark Passenger was happy. 

Its bloodlust well fed.

Life overall was pretty good, which was exactly when things tended to fall apart. 

He had gone to Rita's anticipating another awkward attempt to avoid intimacy in the form of sex and all the accompanying discomfort. 

He knew when he got there that it would be bad, Cody and Astor were over with a neighbor. 

And Rita looked mad. 

Had he forgotten something? Her birthday was in April. They'd only been dating six and a half months so there was definitely not an anniversary that he missed. 

Astor's birthday wasn't for another month. And Cody's was in January. 

Did she ask him to do something that he forgot? 

"Dexter?" 

"Yea?" 

"Are you cheating on me?" 

"No?" That had not been a question he would have anticipated. 

"Are you lying to me?" 

"Not now, no." 

"What's this?" She turned her flip phone to show him, and it was like the world is crashing down on him. On the screen was a grainy picture, of him, at work, doing something much more sexual than he and Rita had ever gotten to together. 

"I- I'm not a full-time Police employee," 

"You lied to me? If you're not some forensics guy then what are you?"

"I did lie, but I do work at Miami Metro! I'm just part-time!"

"And the rest of the time?" Rita was crying, and he wanted it to stop. He didn't want her to hurt. But he'd never been good at comforting her. And right now he wasn't sure he was allowed to. 

"I'm a stripper," and he felt just a little bit like the scum of the Earth. Lying had never done that to him before. His whole life is a lie. 

"How can I trust you?" She asked, sitting on the couch. And that seems like a good idea. Hovering over her would not help. 

"You can't," he said. And it was actually the truth for once. "I've lied to you before and I would've done it to you again," this was probably the most truthful he'd been since Harry Morgan died. 

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Her eyes were getting red and puffy. And Dexter hated that he was the one that did that to her. Rita deserved better. 

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he couldn't meet her gaze. It was easier that way, to tell the truth when she couldn't bore her eyes into his soul. That way she couldn't see how twisted and empty and broken he was. "And I was scared of how you'd react," 

"What did you think I'd do?" She somehow looked even more upset. 

"I was scared you wouldn't want me around anymore, or that we'd be different," she would definitely be different around him if she knew about the _other_ secret. Thankfully, he was much better at keeping that one. 

"Dexter, I don't think we can be the same as before, you lied to me," and he knew this had been coming for a while. Every relationship had an expiration date for Dexter Morgan, it was just how the universe worked. (And it sucked).

"I know, and I'm sorry," 

"Do you think we should try again, start over?" Rita asked, she had that look in her eye like she wasn't sure of anything anymore. Like the insecurity was eating her away from the inside out. Dexter may not have loved her or cared about her the way she wanted, and he may have been a monster and a liar, but he wasn't going to hurt her like that. She deserved better. 

"No Rita, you're right," he started, meeting her watery gaze with a small smile, "if I can't tell you the truth about something like my job, how could you ever trust me when it comes to important things?" 

She looked both hurt and relieved. And Dexter understood that, if only to a smaller extent. Part of him wished they could always be like they were, but he wasn't going to stop lying and she wasn't going to stop wanting more intimacy. This was for the best. 

Which didn't mean that it didn't suck. 

"What do I tell Astor and Cody?" Rita asked, and the little pit in his stomach worsened. With the end of this relationship, he'd lost three people. (He couldn't wait for Deb to crash into his apartment for a sympathy sibling night, with beer and steaks, maybe it would help him get back to normal numbness). 

"I lied to you and lying isn't okay," he replied, knowing full well that lying would always be his cardinal sin, besides killing. But killing required so much lying to be successful and undetected. 

"Where am I going to find another man who's good with them, who's good with me?" She sounded a little less hopeless and a little more tired. He was tired too, not used to feeling this much, even if it is objectively only a fraction of what normal people felt every day. 

He was a little thankful that he didn't feel like normal people, it was almost as exhausting as pretending. Ricky Simmons's funeral was about as bad as this in terms of the desire to go straight to bed and not interact with other humans for a minimum of another 8 to 10 hours.

No matter how tiring, he had to participate in the charade that seemed a little less faked today. 

"You'll find someone, you deserve to be happy." 

Rita smiled. And he knew he'd said the right thing. 

Deb must be rubbing off on him. And that wasn't the worst thing in the world. 

Deb was an amazing little sister and human-being after all. 

If there was anything a monster like him could do, being more human wasn't so bad 

After awkward half conversations and goodbyes, he left. 

In the comfortable dark and quiet of his apartment he sleeps.

But he doesn't feel less exhausted when he wakes up. 

He didn't feel less exhausted after a hot shower.

He didn't feel less exhausted after coffee and breakfast. 

He's still exhausted when he picks up the usual box of assorted donuts for his Tuesday morning MPD shift. 

"You okay Dexterino?" Vince asked when he didn't react to the gross sexual joke of the morning. 

"Just tired," he replied, voice even flatter than normal. 

"Someone keep you up late?" Vince asked with a suggestive grin. 

"I broke up with my girlfriend," 

"Then what you need is a night on the town!" 

"I'd rather not," he said, refraining from the desire to say why that was a bad idea (it always felt awkward to not be the stripper in the situations where strippers were involved). Besides, he had a shift at Dickie's that night. 

He walked away, logging into the computer and starting the casework for the morning. 

Deb was hovering over him in less than a minute. 

"What's wrong?" She asked, in her I'm-not-going-to-let-you-out-of-this-easy sort of way. He was too tired for this. 

"Rita and I broke up," 

"What did you do? Whatever you did fix-it!" She whisper-shouted at him. 

"This is me fixing it!" He hissed back, "if I can't trust her enough to tell her about Dickie's how could we ever trust each other when it's actually important?" 

Deb blinked once, twice. 

"Usually you're not this smart when it comes to relationships or people," she finally said, sounding impressed. 

"Gee, thanks," he replied flatly, trying to focus on the case file. The last thing he needed now was backward compliments. 

"Yea, I get that it sucks," she started, still not leaving him to do his work, "You want me to swing by after you get off and eat those fried ice cream balls and watch Animal Planet?" 

"I'm tired," 

"Sometime later then," Deb promised, patting his shoulder goodbye as she headed to her desk. She'd been getting better at reading him. Or maybe he was getting better at feeling things?

He found himself a little bit wishing that feeling things wasn't so exhausting. It was almost more exhausting than pretending to feel. 

Doakes was avoiding eye contact and giving him weirder looks than normal. Like he didn't even want to look in Dexter's direction. 

Great, he was now so much of a 'creep motherfucker' that he was repulsive. 

Though he did get an intervention via Doakes about his weirder than normal behavior. 

Which was promptly shut up by, _"I broke up with my girlfriend last night, not that it's any of your fucking business,"_

For some reason, Doakes started acting even more disgusted with him. 

Whatever. 

He was too tired to care about what the hell was going on with the only cop who'd seen a crack in his mask. 

He finished his MPD shift at 1 pm. And then fled home to nap. He was too exhausted to hunt a new monster. 

All too soon he was awake and leaving for his 5-11 at Dickie's. With his make-up, he put on a mask to hide the tiredness he couldn't shake. 

One of the other dancers lent him some body-glitter, claiming it would distract customers from noticing anything off about his mood. 

It was hardest to dance for the one blonde woman there for her Bachelorette party. (At least she wasn't the type to get touchy-feely). 

Break-ups sucked. 


	3. Chance Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry it has been so long. Hopefully this chapter is good enough you forget how long I made you wait for it

Doakes had been acting weird for weeks (sixteen days precisely). Usually, he was only snappy when Dexter tried his patience, or on Tuesdays, when he brought in the donuts.

Or when Dexter got lost in his own thoughts, smiling or "staring like a God-damned psycho" at a crime scene.

Or when he enjoyed doing his part-time job. Though now he was being miserable at the precinct and crime scenes and Doakes was still snappy, so clearly, nothing from him would make Doakes happy.

LaGuerta kept giving him sympathetic smiles and chiding Doakes, not that that did anything to mollify the Sergeant’s ire.

She was still doing the winking thing and talking to Dexter in flirty ways. Which did not help with Dexter’s mood. She probably didn’t mean it in a “remember you’re single and available now” sort of way, but feelings were stupid. Dexter was really regretting ever wanting them in the first place, as awful as being empty and numb was, it was easier to feel empty if he never got a glimpse of what it may be like to be fully human.

Vince and Angel kept trying to “cheer him up” by inviting him to drink nights, which he was definitely not in the mood for. Especially since they would insist on being his wingmen. While he may have finally accepted the scope of what he and Rita being over meant, it didn’t mean he was quite ready to throw himself into the flirting game. Even more so due to the fact he’d never been that interested in the dating game. 

Not to mention that Vince would recommend he find a fellow sex worker to help him out. And Dexter really did not want to run into his main set of coworkers while with the MPD coworkers. 

He wasn't ashamed. It was just, that job was _his_. And he didn't much care for the idea of being gossip at the precinct. They were bad enough talking about Deb when she was on Vice. 

He didn't particularly want to be called slurs or fired for reasons related to his employ at Dickie's. Even though it was his secondary job, he did enjoy being a "lab geek".

Worse yet, they might question what else he may be hiding and the ease with which he lied to them. 

And the last thing he needed was more folks like Doakes, suspicious of and hostile towards him.

At least Dexter had improved at hiding his tiredness and dejectedness from patrons and customers at Dickie's. It was easier to put on a mask there, where most of the people he had to interact with were only looking for a lap dance or striptease. 

But tonight, he had the night off.

A real night off. No crime scenes, no dancing. And he didn't have a kill planned. He still needed to confirm that Jeremy Downs would kill again, now that he'd been released. Killers who would kill again were the highest priority according to the code of Harry. After all, what better way to prevent future slaughter than to put down those who, like him, indulged in ending lives on a frequent basis. 

But not tonight. 

Tonight, Deb had strong-armed him into a brother-sister animal planet bonding/comfort from break-up binge. Complete with fried ice cream (transported via beer cooler). 

They watched lizards jump into the sea and eat algae off of coral while eating their sweets. 

The fried shell was soggy and the vanilla flavoring of the ice cream bland. But it didn't have to be that good. 

They were watching a bird try to protect its nest from legless lizards when Deb spoke. (The ice cream was mushy and soupy and sickeningly sweet at that point, but it didn't bother him as much as it did Deb). (He'd always had more of a sweet tooth than her though). 

"How are you feeling? About all this?" 

"Just tired, not because it's late, but I wake up tired, after a shower, I'm still tired, after coffee, I'm still tired," he put another spoonful of half-melted ice cream and very soggy fried batter into his mouth. 

"Like you felt too much and it's just easier to be exhausted?" Deb was good at the feelings thing, probably because she felt everything so much more than he ever had. 

He nodded; "And I know this was the right thing, but it still-"

"Fucking Sucks?" Deb finished for him. In times like these, Deb had the perfect words.

"Yeah."

"Insert one of Dad's proverbs about doing what's right isn't easy," Deb said with a wry smile, eyes still sad with sympathy. Dexter smiled back. 

Deb didn't try to get him to talk about it again. Maybe she didn't need to. 

It was a good night. And a good idea. He should probably thank her again. 

The next day his almost playmate struck again. The Ice-Truck Killer. And Deb's second official homicide call. He's staged the body in the Miami Blades Hockey arena (which he only knew that much about because Rita liked hockey). (Which felt bitter and tiring and cut a bit into his excitement for the simple fact that the Ice-Truck Killer had struck again). 

He almost slipped on the ice in his hurry to get the goal where Vince and Angel are waiting. 

He couldn't stop smiling, even knowing how much of a creep he must look like. He couldn't help it. He felt almost relieved, sharp, clear and in the moment. He didn't feel tired, not at that moment. 

"This is like a dream," he murmured, in awe of the presentation and the gusto of this message. If the fingertips hadn't impressed him before, well, he certainly was impressed now.

"How so?"

"Standing on the home ice of the Maimi Blades," he said, clumsily saving himself.

"Never pegged you a hockey fan,"

And that was because he wasn't, he only knew so much because Rita was. A bit of the tiredness resurfaced in the growing lake of excitement in his gut.

"There's something I find calming about standing in a big cool hole," he lied through his teeth, "So, what do we know?"

"No blood like the others," Vince started, holding up a clean and grey looking calf, showing the beautifully neat cross-section through muscle tendon and bone.

"There're no hesitation cuts, no bones flayed, our guy's got his confidence back," Angel said.

"He never lost it," Dexter found himself replying, "he was just getting bored,"

"Well, whatever seems to have changed he seems more sure about what it is he wants to do and how he wants to say what he wants to say," Angel continued.

"You gotta any hunches about what he's trying to say?" Vince asked.

"That hockey is a violent sport," he said with mock seriousness.

Angel and Vince gave him matching eye rolls and fond grins. 

"But seriously?" Angel prompted. 

"He's escalating the thrill, he's posed his victim in the center of a 20,000 seat area for all of Miami to see. To show them, to show us, what he's capable of,"

"He's taunting us?" Vince interpreted.

"A bit, yeah," he nodded.

"It looks like this is our fingertip donor," Vince held up a partially unwrapped and frozen hand, and as he said, it was missing the fingertips. Like a strange parody of fingerless gloves.

"Yeah, they just confirmed it, this is Shari Taylor, the missing prostitute. What'd I miss?" Deb called, walking with remarkable balance across the ice.

"Nothing much, it's definitely our guy," Angel filled her in. He turned to leave.

"No blood, so no need for me," he announced.

"Your psycho sense telling you anything?" Deb asked, catching his arm.

"Ice cold,"

"You're a fucking riot," she said, shoving him lightly and only seconds away from throwing him the bird as well.

"Morgan! Get up to the command center, we may have a lead!" Doakes shouted from the second level railing.

"Is there really a suspect?" he couldn't help his interest, his cold-dwelling playmate was too much fun to puzzle about, it would be crushing if he got caught so soon.

"I'll let you know, but now I gotta get back to my 2nd official homicide investiga- I know her," Deb said, stopping herself in her tracks and her face falling into horror. She was pointing at the victim, Shari Taylor. "From Vice, she worked the same corner, called herself Cherry,"

"Were you friends?" he asked, wanting to show sympathy.

"Yeah," she nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. Distancing herself from the pain, no doubt.

"Do you want a hug?" he tried, she deserved a repayment of the sympathy she gave him the night before.

"Fuck off," Deb bit back, leaving to go find the command center. Dexter frowned, not knowing what he said wrong.

After an hour of paperwork back at the precinct, Rita called. Astor was stranded at school with no ride home to pick her up. It would provide a good opportunity to return his key.

Astor was happy to see him despite the break-up. He was happy to see her as well.

"I got a splinter from the desk, but the nurse closed at 3," she explained holding up her finger for him to see as she approached with her backpack.

"I'll take care of it soon as I get you home milady," he promised with a smile and a bow. Astor smiled, her face split into a wide grin. Luckily he'd purchased and placed a booster in the back seat for occasions like these. Though, he supposed he wouldn't need it much anymore as he was no longer Rita's boyfriend.

He shook himself, making sure Astor was buckled in before backing out and starting the drive.

"Thanks for the ride, usually mom would come get me, but some guy took our car,"

"Some guy?"

"He said he was friends with my dad," she replied, getting quiet. He glanced into the mirror, checking that she was alright.

"I'm sorry about that, I can report it stolen, did you hear his name?"

"Ricky or Nicky,"

"I'm gonna make sure your mom gets her car back, okay?" He asked, meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror at the stop sign. 

Astor nodded.

Cody was down for a nap when they got to her home.

She giggled as he picked her up for a princess-type imitation of ballroom dancing with extra twirls. Dexter wasn't sure if that formula delighted all eight-year-old girls, but it always cheered up Astor. 

"Do it again!" Astor shrieked as he set her down to sit on the countertop. 

"We don't want to wake up Cody," he shushed, grabbing the tweezers from the first aid kit. 

"Yah we do! Cody will be mad he didn't get to see you!"

"Alright, we will, after I take care of that splinter like I promised," he gave in. "That's a deep one, but don't worry the magical splinter fairy will make it all better,"

"Who's that?" 

"She's the second cousin of the tooth fairy and she brings candy if you put your splinter under your pillow at night,"

"The tooth fairy isn't real, she's fake like the boogeyman!" 

He took the opportunity to yank out the splinter as she was distracted. Astor yelped and her finger bled. 

"You're right, the boogeyman isn't real, but the splinter fairy is," he promised, placing a small bandaid over the cut. 

"Will the splinter fairy come if I cry?" Astor asked, lip wobbling and her eyes already tearing up. He swallowed around the small lump forming in his throat, and held out his arms to pick her up and hold her. 

Astor sniffled into his shirt, wrapping her arms over his shoulders and holding on tightly. 

"Why did you have to break up with Mom?" the eight-year-old whispered. 

"I didn't tell her the truth about something, and it wasn't alright for me to lie," he answered softly, rubbing circles into her back. 

"Why did you lie?"

"I was afraid she wouldn't like me if she knew the truth," he had a feeling that she might understand what he meant and why he hadn't said anything. It was certainly easier than explaining that his job was something he liked keeping private simply because he enjoyed having things that were just his. With so much of his life being a performance for others, it was nice to have aspects to oneself. 

"That's stupid," Astor sniffled. 

"Yeah, it was," he agreed. 

He left as Rita came home, Cody had been very happy to see him. And Dexter had missed all of them. Which made the pit and ache of tiredness in his gut just a bit denser. He hoped he could at least remain friends, and see the kids on occasion. 

But who knew?

He gets home at 5, just in time to listen to his voice-mail and shower before heading to Dickie's. 

Debra left a message. Mostly consisting of expletives and complaining about Leiutanent LaGuerta. Something about trying to frame the missing night guard as the Ice Truck Killer despite the man not being smart enough or in any way similar to the known behavior of the killer. 

And something about the Lieutenant trying to purposefully sabotage Deb's career. Then something about a wood-paneled station wagon. And cussing him out for giving her a cactus. 

That part he smiled at. 

Traffic wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, which in Miami, was basically a miracle. 

In the dressing room, he slipped into red shiny hotpants. Then the white suspenders/body harness (the pair that didn't have the little black bowtie). 

After that, he curled his hair and lined his eyes with dark red shadow and applied mascara. Then came lipstick and finally antiperspirant. 

He didn’t even get to the stage before Jade pulled him to the side, in her usual blue-green spandex get up. Apparently, someone had rented a room with him, one on one for an hour.

He nodded, heading off to room three. 

Hopefully, it wasn't one of the stupid handsy types who thought private rooms were for having sex with dancers, which didn't happen much at Dickie's.

Dickie was a good manager and boss, she made sure no one working at her club needed to sell their bodies all the way, and if they still did, she was good about giving them protection and extra shifts so it didn't have to as much.

And even if that was what the rooms were for, Dexter himself would not be interested in that.

It seemed undignified.

Not the act of exchanging sex for money, just the sex part. He had no ill feelings for full-service sex workers. And while he may work in the sex industry, but he was not very interested in sex. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the realization of who rented the private dance. 

"Don't tell LaGuerta," he blurted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you can guess who it is lol.


	4. (Sexual) Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is seduction but a game of cat and mouse? And wouldn't it be more fun when the roles of cat and mouse are not quite so straightforward?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of flashback in this. (It has been too long).

"Don't tell LaGuerta," the words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to think about how they might sound.

In front of him sat Sergeant James Doakes. Unless Dexter was hallucinating. He hadn't ever before, and most schizophrenic breaks happened between the late teens to mid-twenties, and he had not recently been deprived of sleep for several days, so he probably wasn't hallucinating now. Which didn't actually clear up or in any way explain what _was_ going on.

"Why the fuck would I tell my boss that I'm paying for a private room with you?" Doakes asked with a scowl. An expression Dexter was all too familiar with, from the sergeant.

"I don't know," he replied, "You kinda caught me off guard, you're pretty much the last person I'd expect to see here," 

"What, there's no way I'm bisexual?" Doakes asked with one eyebrow raised and an unimpressed look. 

"No, you shouldn't be here because _you hate me_ ," he answered. Becuase it was the obvious reason and because the sexuality of his coworkers was not a thing that had ever crossed his mind in the slightest bit.

There was a beat of rest, the Sergeant was probably thinking of ways to use this against him... or maybe he'd decide that being a stripper was the only thing Dear Dishonest Dexter was hiding. Hopefully, it would be the latter, but who knew how this would play out?

"You gonna dance or what, psycho?" 

Dexter blinked, _huh,_ so the sergeant really did pay for a private dance for the exact same reason everyone else did. He wasn't sure if that was more or less weird than if there had been ulterior motives. 

He dismissed the thought and started to do what he was paid and hopefully would get tipped for. 

Overall while dancing for someone he knew was strange and awkward, it was not the worst experience. Or the largest surprise he'd found in an audience. Because no matter how fundamentally jarring it was to pole dance and give a semi-distanced lap dance to a _coworker_ that _hated_ him, it was nothing compared to what was referred to as 'the incident' in what was left of the Morgan family.

He was twenty-two when 'the incident' had occurred. That was the first time he'd been massively shocked by a specific person waiting in a room for him. Now with Doakes, it was the first of two. (He hoped that number wouldn't grow more). Then it had been a party, six or seven girls celebrating something. 

He'd walked in anticipating the normal for medium-sized groups. 

He'd started his routine and turned around to find his little sister's face in the middle of the small crowd. 

As any other brother would, he did a double-take. Like any other brother would he also felt suddenly that he was very exposed and that the whole situation was _very_ inappropriate.

"Dex!?" She'd screamed at the same time as he shouted "Don't tell Dad!" Which, in hindsight, might not have been the best thing to say. But it wasn't like there would have been anything _good_ to say in such a ...strange situation.

"Jesus Christ on a Fucking Waffle! _Don't tell Dad!?_ Are you a Fucking Stripper, Dex!?!"

"You can't tell Dad! You're 19, you'd have to tell him you were at a strip club underage!" He shouted back pointing at his little (emphasis on little) sister. 

"You fucking shit-slug!" Deb replied he didn't really know what to do in response to that. So he just stood there, wincing. 

"You never told me your brother was hot," one of Debra's friends interrupted. Breaking the silence and tension whilst creating a whole different and arguably more uncomfortable tension. Dexter had not appreciated the comment at that moment, and especially did not want to think about one of his sister's friends thinking about him as attractive because they were the age of his sister and Deb was three and almost four years younger than him and she was his _little_ sister. Nevermind that he'd never been into the dating scene and did not particularly care for relationships or flirting, he really did not like people in close proximity to _his little sister_ finding him attractive or flirting with him.

"Maggie, I will fist you so hard your brain leaks out your ears," Deb threatened slowly, pointing at her friend, presumably Maggie. "Also, _ew,_ he's my brother." Dexter wisely decided to stay quiet, if anyone was qualified to handle Deb's friends it was Deb. (Dexter could hardly handle his own 'friends').

"Not by blood," Maggie defended. Dexter _scowled_ , that was a very _gross_ and uncomfortable moment. And he _did not_ like the implication that Maggie was trying to make. 

Deb and her other friends looked at Maggie with the same disgust and horror.

"Maggie, just stop talking, please," one of Deb's other friends said. Dexter had a much higher opinion of this friend than Maggie.

"But-" Maggie started, only to be quieted by the group again. One girl even put a hand over her mouth. 

"You're digging a grave honey, please put down the fucking shovel," a new one of his sister's friends said. 

"I guess we aren't getting a private show," 

"Not from my fucking brother we're not!" Deb replied turning to the other girl with one of her signature glares. 

"Um, tell Dickie I'll cover the refund for this whole thing," Dexter promised, feeling every bit the awkward 22-year-old med student that he was.

He wasn't really wearing pants and thus could not awkwardly tuck his hands into his pockets. Not that he didn't try, which made for the awkward what does one do with their hands while almost basically naked in front of their little sister after she has just discovered their night job as a sex worker. 

"Thanks, we'll... do that, c'mon guys," one of the girls who told Maggie to hush said, getting up and gesturing the others to do the same. 

"You... talk to your brother and we'll see you in a bit?" 

Deb nodded. Then the door closed behind the last of the other six 19 or so year olds. 

She dropped her face into her hands, rubbing at her closed eyes. He couldn't imagine how gross and awkward this must be, sure he was uncomfortable because of how much he wasn't wearing clothes in front of his sister, but she had to _see_ him. He knew he would not be very uncomfortable and irritated with his eyes if the reverse had happened. (He really didn't want to even attempt to picture the inverse of their current situation).

"Are you alright, Deb?" He asked, sitting next to her, with enough space between them that they could maybe attempt to pretend he was wearing more clothing than he was.

"I just stared at my own brother's ass thinking it was sexy," Deb shouted, looking up at him and making a retching noise, he understood the sentiment. 

"Sorry," he answered, sheepish. 

"Why are you even a stripper anyway?" She asked in a tone just shy of judgmental. 

"Med school's expensive?" He tried with a half-hearted shrug.

Deb didn't buy it. She just stared him down with a disappointed scowl. _That's a stupid fucking_ excuse _and a pathetic lie,_ her face seemed to say, and she was right.

"Okay," he conceded, he wasn't always that great at lying to her face, even though he'd been doing it his whole life, "I started 'cause the money and it seemed like a good way to stay in shape and then... I guess I like having something in my life that Dad doesn't control," luckily, most of the stuff he was bad at lying about was stuff that it was not that bad for Deb to know. Like the fact that he was awful at talking to girls that were _interested_ in him, and the one time he ran face-first into a wall because the gay guy in his chem lab tried to kiss him (he'd had to tell her because he'd given himself a bloody nose and he'd _almost_ asked her for advice because Dexter wasn't sure if he freaked out because the guy was interested in him from a general sense or if he freaked out because he'd wanted the guy to kiss him). (He hadn't asked her, because he wasn't sure if she and Dad wouldn't like that he might have had an equal interest/disinterest in men as he had women).

"The fuck do you mean by that?" Deb demanded, pulling him out of his head.

"I dunno, sometimes it seems like everything I let myself do is just things that Dad has given me permission to and I wanted to have something that was just mine," 

"At least Dad pays attention to you, he only remembers I exist for birthdays, Christmas, and when I fuck up," 

"Dad cares about you, he just doesn't have to worry about you as much,"

"What, as much as you?" Deb scoffed.

"Something like that," he offered, knowing that this was the closest to honesty he could ever be with his sister.

"Before, I never would've agreed with that, but look at you, you became a stripper to spite him!" Deb laughed with a wicked grin. 

"Hey!" He protested, trying to fight the smile curling up the outside of his mouth. Deb had that effect sometimes. Deb laughed. 

Deb kept the secret and Harry died a few months later. Heart disease, for something you could see coming it almost felt as if it came out of nowhere.

It was both more and less uncomfortable to dance knowing that it was Doakes than he had been when he realized Deb was there. More because Doakes had never been quiet in his dislike for Dexter and had been the only one of their coworkers to see through Dexter's average-suburban-Joe mask at Miami PD. Less because Doakes was definitely not his little sister.

Doakes looked at him differently than most of his male customers. Well, that was only half true. 

Most of his male customers were comfortable in their sexualities and comfortable with the fact they liked to ogle at his body, his _male_ body. 

Then there were the ones who were still figuring it out and seemed pretty sure but had this _hesitancy_ about them as if they thought they couldn't outright ogle him without any shame. 

The shameful ones were usually sucky tippers, in too much of a panic to leave and try to recover whatever straightness they thought they had left to address that this was his _job_ and he did actually still want to get paid for it. Even if he did enjoy it. 

Doakes eyed him up and down, hungry in a way that didn't quite seem predatory because Dexter had rarely thought of lust for the same-sex as something predatory. But the gaze was definitely _consumptive._

Like his body was a desert and just by looking at him Doakes could imagine the taste and want for it more. But the Sergeant was still _glaring_ at him as well. 

Dexter was unsure if anyone else had ever managed to look both so hungry and disgusted at the sight of him. This disgust was different than shame. 

The conflict Sergeant Doakes was having was not due to his sex, it was becuase it was _him_ , because it was _Dexter_ dancing for him. (Today was turning into a really weird day). 

How he knew that he wasn't quite sure, but then again, when the Sergeant was open about his inner demons, the dark passenger and Dexter had little trouble reading him. 

And Dexter knew that Doakes had a demon of his own, there was a reason he had such a temper, and why he got along with so few of their coworkers. And why his instincts were so skilled at seeking out and finding Dexter, despite his mask, his disguise. 

Dexter knew better than most that it was easier for a killer to find another killer. And for someone with their own dark nature to find another similarly burdened. 

Doakes's gaze on his body is almost tangible, heat with a weight to it. Like the Miami sun boring down until his shirt was sticking to him with sweat and his skin was red and starting to blister. 

The dark passenger seems agreeable with the attention though, the coy predator it was, happy that it has snagged the full attention of another predator, one that hunts the monsters like him. To his darker nature this job and the seduction it entailed was a type of hunt, and keeping the attention of a target engaged was satisfying and familiar. Like strapping down his trapped prey to his table to await their retribution, their doom. 

Except instead of violence and bloodshed, the intent and goal of this hunt, this trap was for a different carnal instinct. Like a mating dance.

Except that Dexter was not trying to attract a mate, simply entrap others in the guiles of their own lust... and get paid for it.

After the prescribed time is over and Dexter has finished the sergeant shoves a fistful of bills at him. Or more accurately, into him. Dexter lets himself stumble back with the blow. 

It doesn't hurt, and it won't leave a mark, but it does have force behind it. Doakes stared him down, like a challenge. Dexter stared back, the dark passenger rumbling its approval.

Dexter caught the man's wrist in a hold that is tighter than strictly necessary and uses his other hand to extract the tip. He doesn't break their shared gaze once and the dark passenger is even more pleased to see the whispers of a monster behind the sergeant's eyes.

"See you in the morning, _psycho_ ," Doakes said, purposely shoving past him and knocking their shoulders together so that Dexter had to twist with the impact.

"Bright and early, Sergeant," Dexter replied in the particular chipper tone that he _knew_ pissed Doakes off. This was their game; aggressive attempts to dislodge the act and passive-aggressive assertions from the act.

When Doakes is gone he looked at the bills and is mildly surprised; the sergeant may hate him, but he wasn't a bad tipper.

The rest of his night is more the norm. A bit on stage, a few lap-dances for women, a few for men. One bad tip, two really good tips that make up for it, and a phone number scribbled onto one bill that he will not call. The normalcy only served to make the evening's early events stand out more.

The weirdest thing is... Dexter wasn't sure he disliked the night's events. The dark passenger seemed to... _like_ whatever had happened in that room with Sgt Doakes. _He_ kind of liked the weird way that Doakes looked at him; like he was both something dangerous and something _desirable._ Something to be wary of and even yet something to want.

He had never gone home to find himself still thinking of one of his customers at Dickie's. He had never been _affected_ by someone else's lust for him... at least not in a neutral or positive way. He has been made uncomfortable and confused by the way people have looked at him, but he'd never really _enjoyed_ having someone's eyes on him like that. Dexter wasn't even sure that enjoyment was the right word, maybe it was more _satisfaction?_

Even so, he really didn't know how to be, knowing that having the sergeant look at him like _that_ brought up some satisfaction in him.

He tried to stop thinking about it because it was weird. Weird because he wasn't used to it, and weird because it was _Doakes,_ and weird because even when he tried to stop thinking about how it felt, he _couldn't_ _._

He couldn't just sleep and forget how it felt, a hunter luring in another hunter. His devil luring the sergeant's demon. He couldn't forget how smug the dark passenger was with its satisfaction, how it reveled in having the sergeant's full attention.

He couldn't forget how exhilarating it was, to have a piece of himself _seen_ by a similar creature. A hunter that hunted killers, a hunter that had been trained to capture and incapacitate other killers.

He couldn't forget how Doakes's distrustful and judgmental and _lustful_ gaze had felt warm on his skin. A bit like a fever.

He couldn't forget that as soon as it ended he'd wanted it to start again. He wanted the sergeant to come back. He wanted to lure the devil in him back. He wanted to be looked at like that again. He wanted to feel it again. Whatever _it_ was.

And all of that was a lot, too much to sleep easily. His mind will not quiet, with images and sensations swimming about in the darkness. Echoing in the quiet and lurking in the shadows.

It was almost like bloodlust, noise in his head that won't leave him be.

When Dexter finally does sleep, he dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, now the tension is distributed mutually. *eyebrow wiggle* 
> 
> I hope this was worth the wait. Happy New Year, in this tiny fandom. I hope you are all well and that you guys liked this installment.


End file.
